


Práta Love

by park3rborn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Asexual Character, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Bad Cooking, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky has his metal arm, Cashier AU, Food, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irish, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Natural Disasters, Pansexual Character, Phone Calls & Telephones, Potatoes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Present Day AU, Profanity, Skinny Steve, Stucky - Freeform, Swearing, Texting, being fake deep, bucky is a geek, bucky is awkward as hell, bucky pretends he knows irish things but he really doesn't, holy shit my first fic since years oh god, natasha and sam are besties, only at the end for like a little bit, pansexual Steve Rogers, prompt, sam wilson being perfect, sam wilson is an actual matchmaker, sassy voicemail, skinny steve is a swearer!, steve is the responsible one but like who doesn't want to see this, steve uses some gaelic, teaching another language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/park3rborn/pseuds/park3rborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you try to ask the bae out with potatoes, featuring James Barnes being an absolute fool, Sam Wilson being an excellent friend, and Steve Rogers being a very poor employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Potato Man

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm a cashier and I saw you stuffing your pants full of potatoes and I would stop you but you already have 27 and I want to see how many you can fit" AU  
> Just as a reference: Steve speaks some Gaelic in this.  
> práta = potato  
> prátaí = potatoes  
> I know. Real deep, Kristen. Real deep.

Steve Rogers worked the early morning shift at the grocery store near his house. Getting up sucked ass and sometimes it was a little scary when large groups of swearing, totally wasted 40 year old men wandered in at four in the morning. Sometimes the manager would let him play his own music over the stereo when there wasn't a lot of people shopping (which was almost always). Working the early shift brought the most interesting people in, too.

On this fine spring morning, the shop had a total of six people. There was Steve, holding onto his Starbucks like it could keep him from falling off the Titanic. Some suited, graying guy, who must have had a redeye flight because he looked as tired as Steve felt, was desperately trying to hold onto his three Monsters and donut as he struggled over to Steve's register. An exhausted young mom and her 6 year old, sniffling kid with crutches and a splint on her leg were getting some ice cream. Ms. Evangeline, the morning manager, was somewhere in the back, probably trying to catch up on some more sleep before things picked up later. And then, over by the produce aisle, there was a college-age student, dressed in a red sweater and jeans who kept looking around suspiciously as he eyed what Steve liked to call the Irish Island, which featured a decent variety of potatoes.

The redeye guy managed to stagger over to the register, yawning. He and Steve exchanged equally tired good mornings, and Steve checked him out and sent him on his way, never taking his focus off of the guy he mentally labelled as Potato Man.

Potato Man, left hand for some reason... was that chrome?, used both his hands to carefully inspect the Russet potatoes before stuffing those that passed into his pants pockets. Steve narrowed his eyes, mesmerized by this strange man. Once or twice he would miss the pocket and whisper "shit!" before picking the potato back up and placing it where it apparently belonged. Steve was impressed: Potato Man had gotten ten different potatoes in his pockets. _Why is Potato Man so obsessed with potatoes?_ Steven wondered.  _Personally, I would have chosen the sweet potato..._ wait, oh fuck!  _Could I get fired from my job if I just let him keep taking those? I mean, we throw a lot of shit out anyways._

Potato Man quickly tied his long dark hair into a bun in order to maximize potato-grabbing efficiency. Steve was almost certain that he knew this kid from somewhere, but maybe he just wished he knew someone so interesting. Soon, Potato Man's pockets must have had at least 27 potatoes total.  _This kid is gonna run out of pockets,_ thought Steve. And he was right. Potato Man rolled his eyes, glanced around the room again, and opened the pocket of his sweater, and continued to steal potatoes. 

_What the fuck?_

The ice cream duo finally made it to the register with a couple pints of Ben & Jerry's, and Steve checked them out as well. 

The mom glanced at Potato Man, then at Steve with a raised eyebrow. Steve in return just gave an equally confused shrug. She leaned in and whispered, "Do you want me to call the cops for you?" 

Steve shook his head and whispered back in his peppy cashier voice, "I can handle it, thank you." 

Quickly, it became Steve and Potato Man on the floor at 3:45 AM. Steve occasionally texted his best friend Sam with updates on Potato Man just in case Potato Man looked up and saw the cashier staring at him. Potato Man's pants were dangerously close to coming right off with the sheer weight of the potatoes in his pockets, were it not for his belt. Not that Steve would mind, because to be honest, this weird thief was kind of hot. In a potato-stealing-bad-boy sort of way. Maybe it was the Irish in Steve getting to him. Steve counted 35 potatoes, and just as Potato Man was about to put in the 36th, Steve sneezed with an ungodly force, probably from the pollen in the spring air. Potato Man whipped around with wide eyes and they both stared at each other, unsure how to react.

"Uhh," was all the bizarrely attractive Potato Man could manage. 

Steve wasn't sure what prompted his action, but he put down his drink, went around the register with his palms held open in a gesture of good potato-based will and approached Potato Man. 

"Hey, uh, Steve, I know what this looks like but I swea--"

Steve made a quiet shushing noise and took the potato from Potato Man's surprisingly soft hands, and placed it in his own pocket.

"I don't know what the  _fuck_  you're doing with all these goddamn potatoes," Steve murmured, just in case Ms. Evangeline was nearby, "But I kind of love it, so shut up and hand me more prátaí, you Potato Man."

Potato Man was, naturally, confused. "O-okay?"

Soon, they became a potato hoarding team, and thanks to Steve's crappy cashier's apron, they managed to take fifty nine potatoes total. Steve was now  _very_ sure that this was illegal. They both awkwardly shuffled out to Potato Man's beat up car and dumped their grocery-store-treasure into the back seat of the car.

Steve glanced back to the grocery store. His manager was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully sleeping so he could make up an excuse or something about the large quantity of missing potatoes, in case she noticed. Leaning against the car, he looked at Potato Man. "So, you mind telling me  _why_ I just helped you steal literally an asston of potatoes, Potato Man?"

"M'name's Bucky," Potato Man said sheepishly, "And, um... it's complicated."

"Okay? That is one weak-ass story, Buck," Steve scolded, "You're supposed to wow me with some grand plan about aliens demanding a mashed potato sacrifice or some shit like that."

Bucky was, hopefully, coming up with a witty response when his phone rang. "Hey, uh, this isn't a good time--"

"Oh shit, Bucky you're with him! Did you--" could be heard from the other line, distinctly Sam Wilson's voice.

Bucky laughed loudly to cut Sam off, "Yeah, of course Grandpa, um, I'm bringing the potatoes right now, so just hold on, okay?" and hung up, blushing furiously.

"How do you know Sam?" Steve asked, very confused, yet intrigued. 

"Oh, um, we-- uh... we have classes together," Bucky offered weakly.

This time, Steve's phone buzzed. He opened his messages to see:

SAMUEL WILSON: lol ask him about why the potatoes ;)

"So, Sam wants me to ask why the potatoes..." he read.

Another buzz.

SAMUEL WILSON: don't let him give you any of that "grandpa wanted these before he died" crap.

Steve laughed, and showed it to Bucky, whose ears turned very, very red.

"So?" Steve questioned, taking another look back at the store. Nobody was visible inside and nobody had pulled up to the shop yet.

Bucky cleared his throat. "Well, um," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, here goes."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed as Bucky's ear blush traveled down to his cheeks, too.

"A-an bhfuil tú sa-saor san oíche amárach?" he asked choppily, seeming to be embarrassed by his mediocre grasp of Gaelic.

"Am I... free tomorrow night?" Steve repeated, breaking out into a grin. "That depends. What were the potatoes for?"

"I was planning on creating a large variety of potato-based meals for when-- if-- you went out with me," Bucky said nervously, staring intensely at the asphalt as if it was ruining his lovelife. 

"Well," Steve said slowly.

_bzz bzz_

SAMUEL WILSON: do not break this poor potato man's heart, stevie </3

"Of course I'd like to go out with you, Potato Man," Steve smiled.

"Seriously?"

Steve made an exasperated face, "Yes, really, you moron."

_bzz bzz_

SAMUEL WILSON: did you say yes? answer me you irish asshole

Steve replied: i cant resist a man who literally steals potatoes in order to ask me out

"Hey, Buck? You're gonna have to return some of those, though. A date ain't worth getting fired for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  
> idk how i feel about this  
> it's so bad im sorry
> 
> **Edit: people actually liked this, so I'm gonna make it a 3 chapter thing**


	2. Terrified Date Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky prepare for their date, and Sam and Natasha cause general shenanigans.  
> Bucky is a nervous wreck and Steve tries not to get fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texting and phone calling ensues so sorry for the weird format.  
> Also more Gaelic because my heritage DEMANDS it.  
> Anything in [brackets] is an author's note/translation that I didn't feel like incorporating into the story, so you don't have to google anything or whatever.

"Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!" whispered Bucky as he drove away from the store, leaving Steve to hope that his manager didn't look at the security tapes anytime soon and see the potato escapade. He dialed up Sam.

"Yes, loverboy? How did your adventure go?" seductively answered someone who was definitely not Sam.

"Nat? Where's Sam at? I need to kick his ass."

"I'm right here," came Sam's voice, "You're on speaker."

"Sam, you almost cost me a date with Steve! What the hell, dude?!" Bucky wasn't actually mad at Sam. In fact, Sam probably saved his bacon by texting Steve in order to expedite the process. But still, his willing-to-steal-potatoes-to-get-a-date pride was wounded. 

"So what are you planning to do tomorrow?" Natasha cut in.

It all seemed surreal to Bucky. Getting up at two am so he could psych himself up to steal some-- well, a lot-- of potatoes in order to catch the eye of the very cute cashier. Driving in the dark, trying not to fall asleep, and pulling into the grocery store parking lot. Awkwardly stuffing at least twenty pounds of potatoes into his pockets, probably ruining his sweater at the very least. Getting caught, thinking Steve was mad at him... somehow managing to ask Steve out in Gaelic without sounding completely stupid...  _Steve actually said yes._ It finally actually connected in his brain. "Oh... oh fuck!" 

There was laughing from both Natasha and Sam on the other end. 

"You didn't think this through at all, did you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Bucky would have laid his head on the steering wheel in defeat if it wasn't highly dangerous to do when driving. "I didn't really think I'd... get this far..."

From Sam, "Are you gonna take him to your shitty dorm room?"

From Natasha, "You don't even have a full kitchen in there, do you?"

Sam and Nat had been sharing an apartment since sophomore year. They weren't dating, Bucky knew. She was asexual and aromantic and Sam was a hopeless romantic who refused to date unless he knew that they were "the One". Even then, it never seemed to work out too well, so the pair of them busied themselves with being matchmakers for their friends. _  
_

"Hey, I have an idea. What if Sam and I leave our apartment tomorrow and, Bucky, you can pretend it's your house or some shit and you can seduce Stevie Wonder or whatever." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. It probably wouldn't work. 

"Nat's got a point," Sam said, "It'll be like a restaurant, except my house."

"We'll just go out and watch a movie or something," offered Nat, "We can come back later in the night unless..." Bucky could _hear_   the shit-eating grin on Natasha's face.

"Oh my God, Nat," groaned Sam. 

Bucky blushed, bit his lip to keep from saying something stupid, and turned off the highway towards his dorm. 

"O-okay, whatever, Natasha," Bucky tried to sound cool, but his voice betrayed him. 

"Okay, well, we're gonna let you drive, I've got a call incoming," said Sam, "You'd better learn how to cook in the next 24 hours if you're actually gonna do this."

"How hard can it be? See you later, Sam. Bye Nat." 

_click._

 

Meanwhile, Steve decided to take a break, waking up Ms. Evangeline to cover him for "like 12 minutes tops". 

In the safety of the break room, he congratulated himself on not getting fired yet and on hooking a super hot, awkward geek who apparently knew Sam. He called him to interrogate the man.

"Steve!" Sam picked up, "Man, I think you terrified my friend."

"I fucking scared _him_? Sam, Potato Man was  _literally_ stealing from my damn Irish Island! He almost got the fucking cops called on him!" Steve then remembered he was at work and should probably tone it down, when Natasha scolded him.

"Use your safe for work words, Stevie."

"Whatever Nat. So, like, how does a fu--dging date work anyways?" Steve'd been out of the dating scene since senior year in high school. He actually had cared about school work for the first two years of college, but since it was almost the end of senior year, he felt like he could relax a little. Or at least enough to get a job and maybe get a significant other. 

 "You go to somewhere and just hang out, Steve, come on, you've done this before!" Sam encouraged.

"We're setting you up in our apartment," Natasha began, but Steve interrupted.

"Is this like a double date or something?" 

"No, you moron, we'll be out of your hair for the night. Scout's honor. Anyways, I'll text you Bucky's number since I feel like he forgot to give it to you," Natasha continued, "Just text him later today or whatever and figure it out."

"Okay, sure, thanks."

Ms. Evangeline poked her head into the poorly lit room, "You about done gossiping, Rogers? People are coming in."

 "Yep, I'm coming," reassured Steve. He was pretty sure people were not coming in, since it was 6 am and nobody came in at that time, but he definitely did not want to get yelled at this morning.

Ms. Evangeline grunted and walked back out, leaving Steve to say goodbye to Nat and Sam. 

"I'll talk to you guys later. And thanks for... yeah..."

"No problem Steve-o," said Natasha, "See ya."

_click._

 

Bucky's phone vibrated around noon with a text from an unknown number; the message stated: "Hey Buck, it's Steve Rogers."

BUCKY: Hi Steve!

 _Crap_ , thought Bucky,  _was that too excited? Do I sound desperate? Oh God, I'm already fucking it up. Shit._

STEVE: Nat gave me your number.

BUCKY: ... crap, I forgot to give it to you, didn't I?

STEVE: Yeah but it's good. So what time tomorrow and where?

Steve wanted to give Bucky the satisfaction of actually telling him where they were going to go, even though he already knew.

BUCKY: Whenever's good for you. 5 ish? 

STEVE: I'm free all day on Sundays, so that sounds fine.

BUCKY: 110 Alana Circle

Bucky almost typed "Sam's house" but felt it would seen A) pretty fucking pathetic and B) kind of weird that they were going to another person's house.

STEVE: Okay! Do you want me to bring anything or??

BUCKY: Nah I've gotta use all those potatoes ;)

Bucky instantly regretted the use of the emoticon.  _James fucking Barnes, what the fuck are you, a straight guy on Tindr? Get a hold of yourself!_

STEVE: Nice, I'll see you then?

BUCKY: Yeah, see you Sunday!

STEVE: Slán buachaill! :)

Bucky's quick usage of Google translate made him blush. Steve just called him his boyfriend. In  _Gaelic_ , which, to Bucky, made it all the more romantic and amazing.

BUCKY: Féach leat! [See ya!]

_Oh my God but what if Google translate lied to me like it did for French in high school? No... it's probably better than now... shit but if it's wrong, Steve'll know I'm a fuckin' poser. Oh God. And I don't know shit about making food for other people--_

Bucky was fucked. 


	3. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D-DAY, where the D stands for Date.  
> Steve and Bucky finally have their date alone, but Nat and Sam still manage to be "helpful".  
> The angst-ridden past of Bucky is discussed.  
> also happy Steve Rogers day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve stats are very hard to find when you want skinny steve, so I made some up.  
> bucky's 5'9" for reference.  
> This chapter features a paragraph or so about a natural disaster. Just FYI.

The date was supposed to happen at 5.

At 7 in the morning, Bucky woke up as he normally did, looked at his phone, made coffee, looked at his phone again, and realized what day it actually was and proceeded to nearly drop both his phone and his coffee cup on the floor in horror. He was _not_ ready at all.

At 8, Bucky managed to eat some cereal and drank probably too much espresso for someone who was already kind of shaking. He had to decide between learning how to cook in 9 hours or pick out an outfit. He opted for cooking. Maybe in that time he could actually learn something. 

At 9 in the morning, Steve got up because he was starving, not because he actually wanted to get up. He knew he had his date later and probably shouldn't have made _and_ eaten as many pancakes as he did, but he did and he was ready to suffer the consequences of eating literally 13, butter and syrup-drenched pancakes in one sitting. Including laying on the ground in recovery position trying not to barf. At least he wouldn't have to eat lunch, he rationalized.

By noon, Bucky had watched three hours of DIY Irish cuisine, which involved a lot of Guinness, raisins, flour, beef, and potatoes. He was really interested in making Irish soda bread, but he decided to settle on Sheppard's pie. How hard could it be?

Steve fell into a sugar coma after breakfast and vaguely remembered googling 101 Alana Circle to make sure he knew where it was. It was Sam and Nat's house, he was 99% sure. It was sort of a weird place to have a date, but their house was nice and Steve's place was a dump, and he assumed Bucky's place was similar. Maybe after all this was over, he and Buck could move in like Nat and Sam, except with more... benefits? He didn't have much time to process it all before he fell back asleep.

At 1, Bucky couldn't take any more middle-aged moms on YouTube and decided he had to try in the kitchen he would be cooking in. He texted Sam, warning him he'd be over as soon as he picked out an outfit. Sam knew what this meant, and instantly Facetimed him with Natasha.

"You take like five hours to pick an outfit, Bucky," Sam rationalized, "We're just guys being dudes."

"Okay whatever, Sam," Nat drawled, entering the image, "Bucky, show us what you're thinking."

After about half an hour of agonizing over Bucky's top-three outfits, they decided on some black skinny jeans (Sam said it matched his shirt and Natasha said it made his thighs look bangin', and Bucky would be ashamed to admit he mostly cared about the latter information) and a suit shirt under a vest. 

"Make sure you roll up the sleeves," Nat said, "Everyone goes nuts over a guy with rolled up sleeves in a vest."

Bucky did, but he remembered he had to cook first, and decided to wear sweats and a shitty workout shirt for cooking purposes. 

At 2:30, Bucky rolled into 101 Alana Circle, Nat and Sam waiting, as Steve came out of his sugar-induced stupor (probably catching up on the sleep he lost while working at the grocery store). Bucky shooed the two out of their home all the while assuring them he'd be okay and assuring Nat he wouldn't "bang on her bed" while they were gone. Which Bucky doubted would happen for a long time anyways, let alone on their mutual friend's bed. Gross.

Bucky had brought his stolen goods with him, as well as his other outfit and his iPad so he could read recipes and how-to videos while cooking. And listen to music, too. Naturally.

Steve did some laundry and decided on some semi-formal clothes since Bucky didn't tell him anything about a dress code or anything. If anything, he could dress it down if Bucky was casual. And he wouldn't look totally like a slob if Bucky decided to go full suit. He grabbed some of his unstained slacks and a dress shirt and a tie. Ties were sexy, right?

3:30, Bucky was struggling to figure out how to preheat the unfamiliar stove and was worrying whether or not Steve liked the skins on his potatoes. He liked the skins on his potatoes, but was it right to assume Steve would too? Did native Irish people like potato skins? Was Steve native Irish? Bucky's brain was about to split in two.

4:40, Sam and Nat called, probably to wind Bucky up. He didn't answer. He was hurriedly boiling potatoes and-- were you supposed to brown the meat before you put it in the pie? Oh hell, was Steve allergic to anything in the pie?  _Fuck!_

4:50, punctual Steve pulled into Sam and Nat's driveway, mildly anxious and checking his hair and his breath before knocking on the door.

4:51, Bucky almost had a stroke when he heard the doorbell ring. The first layer of the pie was put in, but the potatoes and cheese weren't on the top yet. "Crap," hissed Bucky, still in his comfy-cooking clothes, covered now in a variety of ingredients. 

"Hey Bucky!" Steve grinned, eyes roaming over the surprisingly sexy, chef look that Bucky was rocking. His second thought was  _well fuck, was this supposed to be super casual? Fuck. I look like an uptight douche bag. Fuckity fuck sHI--_

"Come on in, Steve!" Bucky tried to seem relaxed, but was silently cursing himself for the potatoes not being ready for Steve by this point. _The irony..._

Steve slid off his shoes and went into the kitchen with Bucky.

"S-sorry," Bucky stammered, "It's kind of a mess. I'm, uh, making Sheppard's pie."

Steve smiled softly, "Maimeó used to make that and potato pancakes all the time."

_Fuuuuuuck... his friggen grandma used to make this? I'm gonna look like shit._

"I, uh, just have to do the potatoes and then we'll be ready to go."

Steve flicked up an eyebrow. "Are those the potatoes you, eh,  _borrowed_ from my store?" 

Bucky smirked, thankful that Steve was so relaxed about this whole thing. "I don't waste good potatoes, you know?"

"Of course. You need help?"

Bucky considered it. "No, I think we'll be okay."  _We? Are we an item? What the hell?_

"Okay." Steve had brought his sketchbook, partially for show and partially so he wouldn't seem like a huge douche by being on his phone. It was the same concept, but most people reacted better to him doodling than him snapchatting his friends, so drawing it was. He was pretty good at doing people, but he really wanted to be good at doing landscapes, but people relaxed him. He made a rough sketch of Bucky's back, paying a decent amount of attention to the sick curve of his ass, which was facing him as the other man struggled to potato.

"Shit," they both mumbled under their breath, for two different reasons.

Steve, satisfied with the quality of butt he had just drawn, decided to offer up his services to Bucky, whether he liked it or not. In another spur of the moment decision, he slid up behind Bucky, sort of failing with the sexy thing since Bucky was, to his eye, about two or three inches taller than him. He was pretty good at being quiet, probably because he was small and took ballet for a couple years in high school. Bucky was physically paining Steve to watch while he tried to figure out how to mash the potatoes without breaking the mixing machine.

He took Bucky's right hand--  _note to self, ask about the other one later_ \-- and carefully guided him, pretty damn pleased with himself as he heard Bucky gasp a little. Together, they sliced the boiled potatoes in half and Steve backed off long enough for Bucky to slide the potatoes into the mixer to whip them.

"You do like the skins, right?" Bucky asked, voice shaking a little. 

"Ar ndóigh , grá. [Of course, love.]" 

They put in the pie and had some time to kill, so they spent it on the sofa, asking the generic questions like "do you like cats or dogs more" and "which Netflix show is your favorite". 

During a comfortable silence, Bucky gazed at Steve. _Nice score, Buck,_ he thought to himself. The tie was a nice touch. He glanced at his own pants. In growing horror, he realized he was still wearing his nasty-ass sweatpants and his very gross shirt that he had planned to change out of before Steve showed up. A small  _oh_ escaped his lips before he started spilling out apologies like "I must look like a total slob, I'm sorry" and "I'm the worst" as he scurried to the bathroom, leaving a bemused Steve behind on the couch. He was mortified. Absolutely mortified. He didn't know how to cook goddamn potatoes and Steve had dressed all nice and he had  _planned_  to look decent and he just totally let it slip his mind. Turning red, he slid on his original date outfit and splashed some cold water on his face. "Come on, James, you can do this. You're an adult. This is fine." He tied his hair back into what Sam liked to call a man-bun, even though it was more like a shitty excuse for a bun, since he didn't have enough hair to actually make a bun.

Taking a shaky breath, he left the bathroom and walked back towards the couch, rolling up his sleeves like Natasha had told him. 'You just have to look confident to be confident' was one of Nat's favorite mottos.

"Sorry about that," Bucky apologized for probably the 50th time in the past 10 minutes.

"It's fine! You looked fine!"

"Do- do you want me to change back?" 

"Nonono, you look even better now," Steve reassured Bucky. He looked better than better, honestly. Steve was amazed by Bucky's butt in the sweats, but _those jeans_. Bucky was full-on model mode. Even Bucky's weird metal arm looked sexy. _Can you be attracted to what is probably a prosthetic?_   Steve wondered.  _Is that even a thing?_  He was really, really curious about what the story was behind the arm.  _Really_  curious. But he felt it would be inappropriate to bring up himself, so he didn't.

Bucky didn't not notice. Steve was never 100% good at being subtle. He gestured at his left arm, "Wonder how I got these scars?" Nat would have highfived him, probably.

It was Steve's turn to blush, and he blushed a rose color across his nose and cheeks. "Um, kind of."

"It's a long story," Bucky warned. He mentally prepped himself to give the generic, teachers-ask-how-it-happened spiel. "The short version of it is, ah, it was an accident. I used to, um, work on planes in high school with my, um..." he cleared his throat, "With my mom, a-and you know," this version of the story was always easier to tell. Why was it so hard to repeat to Steve? "You know, planes are dangerous, right?" He laughed nervously, "And sometimes things go wrong while you're-- when you're in the air and..." he looked at Steve. Steve's gorgeous eyebrows were knit in concern on that beautiful face. He couldn't look at him. "Well, long story short, we went up and only one of us came down," he chuckled, but there was no joy in it. In fact, his eyes shone with tears. "Th-the air traffic control said there was nothing we could have done about it, you know? Freak tornadoes happen when you're in Tornado Alley. Usually they're-- um-- smaller, but... we were the l-lucky winners of a true freak storm." Tears were falling. Crying would have been more comfortable in his shitty clothes, the very back of his mind said. Why did he tell Steve so much? 

Steve gently placed a hand on Bucky's, not wanting to invade his space but being a highly tactile person, this was the only way he knew to help. 

Bucky laughed bitterly, "I made it. Th-the impact, um, killed my mom, a-and I got knocked out by a propeller and, according to the cops, the plane decided to take a nice nap on my arm."

"Shit, Buck..." 

Bucky gave a weak smile and scooted up closer to Steve, letting out a choked breath as he wrapped his arms around Bucky's torso. Bucky shook as his mind replayed what he remembered and what his brain made up on repeat. Steve gently undid Bucky's bun and ran his fingers through his hair, making soothing noises like his gran would when he lived with her. 

"I probably look pathetic, eh? I can't cook potatoes and I'm broken and I can't even steal potatoes from a damn grocery store at 3 in the morning and this isn't even my own house."  

"No, Bucky, listen. You're perfect, okay?" Steve placed a soft kiss on Bucky's head. "And you look super hot, too, so that's a plus, right?" 

The oven dinged.

"Pie's done," Steve mumbled into Bucky's hair. "I'll dish it up, okay?"

Bucky nodded, trying to regain his decency, and made his way to the kitchen table.

"Guinness is in the fridge," Bucky offered.

"Look at that. You're practically native," Steve smiled.

Dinner was relaxing, and Steve explained to Bucky the various traditional Irish dishes and what dishes the Irish "borrowed" from other cultures and made their own.

The phone rang at least four times, both Bucky's and Steve's, but they ignored it until they had done the dishes and started browsing Netflix for anything good.

They played the voicemails to each other after realizing they both got messages from Sam and Nat.

5:00 PM: "Hey, it's Nat. If Steve isn't over there right now I'm going to drive Sam and myself over to his house and kick his skinny ass."

6:35 PM: "Sam's wasted. He's such a lightweight it's kind of pathetic. I hope you're not fucking in my bed. I'm going to need it for sleeping purposes after I'm done dealing with Sam-- Hey! Stop flirting with the bouncer, Sam! What the fuc--" _  
_

8:07 PM: "Sam's sobered up a little after the bouncer roughed him up and so we're gonna go to the movies. We'll be back in a couple hours. Don't fuck up my TV."

8:08 PM: "Heyy loverboy," it was Sam, "How's the date?" Whispering, for some reason, "Bucky, make sure you watch _Darby O'Gill and the Little People_ with Steve. Irish people love that shit, man. Very romantic and shit."

10:43 PM: "Sam cried over fuckin' dinosaurs, Rogers. I would say you owe me but it was so great so I'll let it slide. Hope you're out of my house or else Sam'll give you the whole speech on how he wants to create dinosaurs like that, except smaller and keep them as pets." 

By 11, Steve and Bucky figured they should get out of there before an emotional Sam and tired Natasha showed up.

"So, maybe do this again?" asked Steve.

"Yeah, of course," said Bucky.

"Just don't steal my potatoes this time, okay? You've got my number now. You can actually call or text me instead of sending me 50 pounds of starch in the mail."

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Ehhh???  
> I identify with Bucky with my entire SOUL.  
> Also Nat and Sam are my two small children who are perfect so I had to include them.  
> Hope y'all enjoyed Nat's appearance.  
> [terminator voice] she'll be back.


End file.
